My Shitty Fourth Of July

The Fourth of July is a crazy time full of beaches, explosives, and drinks that are as strong as they are expensive. If you’re from New England, you know one of the many go-to places to celebrate the independence of our great nation is Block Island.

After a full day of boozing at the best beach bar on Block Island, I was feeling the signs of early-onset blackout quickly affecting my body and mind: my eyelids started to feel heavy, my tongue stopped working, and I yelled inappropriate things to the elderly as they walked by the bar patio. You know, the basics.

I knew this wouldn’t end well for me for two reasons: 1) The last ferry leaving this tiny island departs at 8:00 p.m. and it was 7:40 p.m. at the time, and 2) The next ferry doesn’t leave until 8:00 a.m. the next morning. My only option was to try and find my way to the ferry loading dock before it was lights out for me. I knew my time was limited, as I had just finished a particularly strong mudslide. The odds were not in my favor.

As I stumbled my way to the bar exit, I kept a sharp eye out for the guys I came with, praying that one of them would help guide me to the ferry before my brain turned into Beyoncé’s halftime show at Super Bowl XLVII. As I worked my way through the crowd of people also going to the loading dock, periodically stopping to catch my balance on a stranger’s shoulder, I saw my fraternity brother Tony in his Iverson jersey and American bandana from a distance. I turned into Will Smith at the end of The Pursuit of Happyness when he finally got a job, tearing up and clapping to myself in a sea of strangers.

Unfortunately for me, this was the last memory I have of the night. I woke up alone to the sound of fireworks on a beach while freezing cold and drenched in sweat with a dead phone and no money in my wallet. I looked at my watch and saw it was 11:30 p.m. What the hell happened?! I thought I was in the clear and on my way back to Rhode Island. Did I ever make it to Tony? Was that guy even Tony? Did I stumble my way to the beach in celebration then pass out after seeing maybe Tony? These questions will never be answered.

As I lay there freezing in my American flag tank top and shorts, shivering away like a homeless man and reeking of alcohol and cig smoke, I had a sudden feeling that would turn this situation from bad to worse: I had to shit.

Bad.

As all of you are fully aware, this wasn’t going to be an ordinary shit. This was a “day of consuming nothing but burgers, hot dogs, and alcohol” shit. This bowel movement was going to mimic the name of the drinks I had been pounding back all day; this was going to be a mudslide.

As I frantically looked around for a spot to poop, I realized I was on a beach on the Fourth of July. If there was ever a place and time for a public deuce, it was here and now. It was a tough decision, because I could see that there were families still out enjoying the last of the fireworks, but it had to be made. This was an explosion these people didn’t want to see, but, well, they were going to have to deal with it if they were unfortunate enough to look my way. I made sure to give myself at least a little cover, though; I’m not a monster. I saw a corner of the beach that contained some bushes that had long leaves, ran over there, and let loose. I felt like an oversized cat taking a shit in an oversized litter box. It was raw, and I’ll spare you the details.

Long story short, I had to wipe my ass with the leaves from the bush then go back to the beach to sleep with an ass that was wiped mediocrely at best. At one point I tried to cover myself in sand as a means of staying warm, but it was useless. I was alone on the beach like the Christie family, except this wasn’t by choice.

I got on the first ferry out of there the next morning, borrowed someone’s phone charger, and called my friend to come pick me up. When I got home, I realized I had missed work. Well done, me.

The sad thing is, this isn’t even the first time I’ve slept on the beaches of Block Island after Fourth of July festivities. I may have a problem, but I doubt it..

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I’ve worked at 3 different country clubs. That is completely false. Members would never allow that. The board would have you fired immediately. Plus the whole reason to have a country club job is to network with members. No one would hire someone who gets drunk on the job.

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Didn’t find anything about a shitty 4th of July, but there are some great pics of men exposing themselves to children at the Gay Pride Parade. I plan to participate next year. Maybe I can finally lose my virginity there. I heard someone say I look like a “bottom man.” Not sure what that is, but it sounds relaxing.